Selfish Thoughts
by A Nicole That Morphs
Summary: Trowa stops Quatre from doing something drastic, digging up long buried feelings, which lead both parties to do some head-clearing in very different ways


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Selfish Thoughts

By: Nicole DeGennaro

Quatre said he was going to bed early, Trowa knew that much. But still, something didn't feel right as he sat in the kitchen, the silence seemed too permanent. He looked around for something to keep his mind occupied, so he wouldn't focus on the soundlessness. He couldn't help but wonder why Quatre had retired so early. The sun had barely begun setting when he announced he was going to his room.

Trowa thought over the day, trying to think if anything happened that might have upset Quatre. He couldn't come up with a damned thing. As he thought back further, to the past couple of days, he realized that Quatre had been uncharacteristically detached.

The orange glow of the setting sun filled the house as Trowa made his way up to Quatre's room.

He was surprised to see the door to Quatre's room slightly ajar, a brighter orange-red light seeping through the partially open door. Trowa remembered that that was one of the reasons Quatre picked that room as his—it had the best view of the sunset.

He knocked on the door despite the fact that it was open.

"Quatre?" He asked softly as he pushed the door open. His eyes automatically fell to the bed, where Quatre should have been. Trowa was a little disturbed to see the bed was empty and still made. As Trowa's eyes scanned the floor, his body was chilled to the soul. Beyond the bed on the floor was a shadow that shouldn't be, but was.

That was when Trowa felt the draft from the open balcony windows. In the eerie orange light that was fading into twilight, many weird shadows were being cast across the room.

But the shadow of the noose hanging from the balcony window-frame didn't belong.

A brisk breeze suddenly swept through the room, the warning of an approaching storm. The noose swayed strangely slow in the brisk wind, a silent reminder of the mortality possessed by the human race. Trowa, amidst his panic, was relieved. The noose was empty so Quatre was still alive. *Unless he killed himself some other way…* Trowa realized that was a possibility. Quatre had obviously been considering suicide, the noose was a disturbing intimation of that idea. *The house is always going to sound this way…* Trowa felt a blind panic coming on as it dawned on him that he had known Quatre was acting unlike himself. He knew that if Quatre was dead, that if Quatre had taken his own life, then the mansion would always seem to hold this deranged silence. Aside from that, Trowa wasn't sure he would be able to deal with that. The curtains around the window billowed towards him as he approached the balcony, the wind seeming to be trying to push him away. He was looking, looking for any indication of where Quatre may have gone. 

As much as he tried, he couldn't bring himself to walk out onto the balcony. He couldn't pass under the noose, it was a chilling idea to even think about doing so. He watched the sun set, the noose appearing to be nothing but a hanging shadow as twilight disappeared into night. 

He took a deep shaking breath and turned away from the horrible scene, his mind set on finding Quatre whether he was too late to save him or not. He listened, and his heart sank as he heard nothing but the silence; the cold silence that often seemed to accompany death when it was near. Trowa closed his eyes as a cold wind came blowing through the room, followed by the first few drops of rain that were heading the oncoming storm. One of the curtains seemed to wrap itself in front of Trowa, beckoning him to go out to the balcony. He still couldn't bring himself to.

As the wind died down and the rain began pounding the ground outside, another sound seemed to cut through the rest of the sudden noise. He didn't know if he was hearing things or not, but he couldn't just shrug off the fact that he had heard it. Sobbing. He was sure he heard someone sobbing, and he was even surer that it hadn't been himself. He listened for it again, and heard it. He honed in on it this time, and determined that if the sobbing was coming from anywhere in Quatre's room, it was from the bathroom. He almost found himself grinning as he pushed the curtain out of his way and walked over to the adjoining bathroom door. The sobbing meant Quatre was alive, that was all it could mean.

He quickly pushed the bathroom door open, almost too excited to contain himself. He wasn't sure why he was excited, he knew he should be worried, or scared, or angry. But he wasn't either of those as he pushed the door open. He was extremely relieved to know Quatre was alive. His spirits fell once again, though, as he saw the scene in the bathroom.

No blood. That was one thing to be relieved about. About the only thing to be relieved about. He couldn't decide which scene was worse; the one that was in the bedroom or the one he saw now. Both were eerie and heartbreaking in their own respects. Trowa knelt down next to the bathtub, where Quatre was sitting, sobbing. He was actually more or less lying in the bathtub, with his head leaning against the white tile wall. His cheeks were soaked with tears, he had obviously been crying for a long time. His eyes were closed, and Trowa wasn't sure if the young boy even knew of his presence in the room. Quatre's bangs were drenched with sweat and were sticking to his forehead.

Trowa moved forward and pushed Quatre's bangs off his forehead with his hand. Quatre's eyes flew open as he turned to Trowa, looking shocked that he was in the room and looking worried. His eyes seemed to be apologizing for putting Trowa through all of this, but they also seemed to be apologizing for something else, or to someone else. Trowa knew that Quatre probably wouldn't want to talk about the situation right then. He let his hand rest for a minute on Quatre's forehead before he slid it down and caressed his cheek. He was shocked when Quatre's hand flew up and knocked his own away.

"Don't touch me…" He said as his hand fell back to his side. Trowa pulled his hand back, not sure of what to say.

"Quatre, you're shivering." Trowa whispered softly. Quatre wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes again. *He knows I saw, he doesn't want to believe it..* Trowa leaned on the bathtub and looked at Quatre's face. "Why would you think of suicide, Quatre?" Trowa asked. Quatre hugged himself harder, and sniffled.

"I don't want to talk about it." Quatre stammered. He began sobbing, and curled into a ball. Trowa's heart was torn.

"Will you at least get up?" Trowa said, a frustrated tone seeping through his original tone of worry. He wasn't frustrated at Quatre…or maybe he was. He wasn't sure. He knew he was frustrated with himself, if not Quatre as well. Trowa stood up and held out his hand, a silent offer to Quatre. Quatre opened his eyes and lifted his head from his knees, looking up at Trowa.

"I don't know if I can." Quatre murmured. He held out his hand and grasped Trowa's as he got to his feet. Trowa was surprised to feel how cold Quatre's hand was. *He's still shivering…* He thought. Quatre didn't make a move to get out of the bathtub, he just stood there in the near-darkness looking at Trowa. 

Trowa pulled Quatre towards him, in an effort to get him out of the bathroom. Quatre, being totally unprepared for the sudden pull, stumbled and nearly fell to the floor. Trowa's other arm shot forward and caught Quatre around the waist, pulling him out of the bathtub and onto his feet.

They stood like that, in complete silence for another few minutes. Then without warning Quatre threw his arms around Trowa's neck and hugged him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Trowa, I didn't mean to do it! You weren't supposed to see it, you weren't supposed to know! I'm…I'm so sorry!" He sobbed almost incoherently. Trowa wrapped his other arm around Quatre's waist and hugged him gently.

"You don't have to apologize, Quatre. Just tell me why you would think of taking your own life. Is it something that I did? Is something bothering you so much that you thought suicide was the only way to get away from it?" Trowa stopped asking questions when he felt Quatre begin to sob harder.

"I don't know, Trowa. I'm so confused, and I'm so scared. I just don't know my reasons for doing anything anymore." He replied softly. Trowa looked at their reflection in the bathroom mirror, how small and scared Quatre looked. How the blood on Quatre's neck seemed to be even more noticeable against his paler skin. Trowa started. *Blood?…* He looked back down at Quatre, who still had his head buried in Trowa's shoulder. Trowa briskly pushed Quatre away. Quatre looked surprised and hurt as he looked back at Trowa. "What's wrong?" He asked as he looked up at Trowa.

"Quatre…why is your neck bleeding? What did you do?!" Trowa yelled, his tone sounding frantic. Quatre suddenly slumped to his knees, his head buried in his hands. Trowa realized right then how bad the situation really was. He assumed that the blood on Quatre's neck was from rope burn, which meant that he had tried to hang himself. He had come closer to committing suicide than Trowa had at first suspected. 

Trowa reached down and grabbed Quatre's arm, dragging him to his feet. As Trowa was about to bring his hand to Quatre's neck, Quatre wrenched his arm free and backed away from Trowa.

"Don't touch me! Just leave me alone!" He choked out as he exited the bathroom and went out into the bedroom. After a few moments Trowa went out after him, expecting to see him on his bed, or possibly not in the room at all. 

He did not expect to see Quatre standing on top of a chair, pulling furiously at the noose. At first Trowa thought he was trying to hang himself again, but then he realized that Quatre was trying to pull the noose down from the window frame. Trowa walked over slowly, still not daring to go out onto the balcony. He noticed Quatre wasn't out on the balcony either. There just seemed to be something eerie about the balcony, as if it was offering death to the next person to step foot upon it. Trowa looked up at Quatre, but could not see his face.

"Why don't you let me take it down?" He asked, knowing that Quatre was in no condition to do that just now.

"Please, just leave me alone.." Quatre pleaded tearfully. He didn't turn his head towards Trowa, but he had stopped pulling at the noose, obviously giving up on pulling it down. But he made no move to get off of the chair. "You don't know how close I came…" He added softly as he turned himself on the chair and looked out at the night sky and the light rain falling from it. Trowa stood next to the chair in silence, unsure of what to say. What was he supposed to say to a statement like that? Was he supposed to try to tell Quatre that he hadn't come close to death? How was he supposed to be able to tell him that; what kind of comfort would it offer if he did? He looked up at Quatre again, and noticed that the young boy was rubbing some of the blood off his neck with his hand.

"Quatre, come down. I'll help you clean yourself up before you go to bed." Trowa said, a pleading tone to his voice. Whatever it would take, Trowa didn't care. He was going to make sure Quatre never thought about suicide again. 

Quatre turned his head away from the night sky, and looked down at Trowa, seeing the distressed look in his eyes. *I don't believe I was going to leave him. He's always been so good to me. It was selfish of me to think of suicide.* He thought as he climbed off of the chair. Trowa quickly grabbed Quatre as he touched ground, and then looked into his eyes. He could see an expectancy there, but at first he wasn't quite sure what Quatre was expecting. Then he realized it. The blood in his veins began to pound as he looked down at Quatre. This would be his opportunity to admit his feelings to Quatre. This would be the time to tell Quatre he loved him. 

He somehow felt that because he hadn't spoken up about his feelings Quatre had been driven to attempt suicide. He had nearly lost this chance that he had now, with the young blonde looking up at him, not trying to pull out of his grip at all. If whatever thought or spark of hope that had made Quatre take the noose from his neck hadn't occurred, then he wouldn't be standing with Quatre in his arms. 

But somehow a part of his mind convinced him that this was not the time to speak his feelings. Now couldn't be the time to admit his love, not after an incident like this. He convinced himself that he had only been imagining Quatre's expectant gaze. Quatre didn't need more uncertainty in his life, that was obvious. Trowa tore his gaze off of Quatre's pale face, and looked back at the noose.

"Let's get you cleaned up." He said, breaking the silence. He released Quatre and walked towards the bathroom, unable to turn around to see if Quatre was following. He knew that he had missed his chance and he didn't want Quatre to see the devastation that was undoubtedly written on his face. He didn't want to see the anguish on Quatre's face.

Quatre watched Trowa's retreating figure, unsure of what had just happened. For a few moments he could've sworn that Trowa was going to open up to him and tell him something that not only did he need to hear, but that Trowa had to say to get it off his mind. But maybe he had just been hoping too much. Quatre turned away from Trowa's back as he felt the onrush of tears again, and looked out the window into the stormy night. He didn't want Trowa to see him crying this time. He didn't want to have to explain his reason for these tears. He didn't know how he would go about explaining them without startling Trowa. It was moments like those and the mixed emotions caused by uncertain silence like that that made him think of suicide. But he had never meant to go through with it, and he still couldn't figure out why he almost had. 

How was he to explain to Trowa that the tears he shed now were from the pain of a broken heart? A few moments earlier he had been sure Trowa was going to tell him he loved him. It had been written on his face. But it hadn't happened, and Quatre got the faintest notion that it never would. This had been how he felt as he had hung the rope and made it a noose. This had been how he felt when he had actually put the noose around his neck and almost stepped off the chair. His eyes wandered back to the noose, which looked nothing more than a shadow in the now-darkened room. He stood, watching it glide back and forth in the slight breeze, and he knew that it wasn't too late yet. He could still hang himself if he wanted to. He could end all the confusion and doubt he was feeling once and for all.

He quickly turned away from the noose, horrified that he had once again been thinking of killing himself. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't think of any other way to deal with his confusion.

He wiped away his tears and then walked into the bathroom, making sure to keep his eyes from locking with Trowa's lest he start crying again. When he entered the bathroom, Trowa was standing at the sink with a washcloth, testing the water and then soaking the cloth. His back was to Quatre, so neither of the boys could see the other's face. Trowa then turned to Quatre and pointed at the bathtub.

"Just sit right there." Trowa directed. At first Quatre made no move, he just stood in the doorway and looked at Trowa, but avoided his eyes. After that brief moment, though, Quatre complied. Trowa looked at Quatre's neck, the blood there still gave him an unsettling feeling in his stomach. He couldn't believe he had let things get that bad for Quatre, to the point where Quatre had tried to kill himself.

Before he could let his thoughts wander further, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. He sat down next to Quatre, and began to use the dampened washcloth to wipe away the blood. Much to Trowa's relief the blood came off easily, which meant the wounds were shallow, and probably wouldn't leave any marks. It also meant that he had been right; the wounds had been caused by rope burn and not from a razor or knife. Quatre sat completely still, not saying anything or trying to start a conversation. In a few minutes, Trowa got up and rinsed out the cloth. The silence was rather bothersome to him and he felt that after an incident like this Quatre and him should talk about it. 

As he turned around to express this idea to Quatre, he saw the young blonde crying again. He was unsure of what to do. He couldn't really offer any words of comfort because he didn't know why Quatre was crying and it was most likely Quatre wouldn't want to tell him just then. He decided to ask why anyway.

"Why are you crying, Quatre?" Trowa asked softly as he knelt down in front of him. There. You couldn't get more blunt than that. Maybe he should've asked in a nicer way. Quatre was struggling to get a full breath of air amidst his silent sobs.

"I don't think you'll understand." Quatre managed to respond, and it was the truth. He didn't think Trowa would understand that he was crying because he was confused. Not only confused, there were other reasons too. But right now it seemed he was crying mainly because of confusion and depression. He didn't think Trowa would understand because he refused to believe Trowa had ever truly been this confused. And he wouldn't be able to explain it to him even if he did say he understood. He wouldn't be able to explain why he was so confused; he wasn't even rightly sure of that himself. But he knew why he was depressed, lonely, and maybe even scared.

He didn't think Trowa would understand any of that either.

Trowa, upon the abrupt response from Quatre, was debating whether or not to persue the matter further. He wasn't sure if Quatre would pull away and not talk to him at all, or if he would open up and try to let him understand what was wrong. Once again Trowa thought that maybe he should tell Quatre that he loved him. He quickly shoved that thought aside, scolding himself for letting it creep upon him again. He tried to look into Quatre's eyes, to see if maybe they would tell him why he was crying again. But he found that Quatre was being careful not to make eye contact with him.

Realization hit Trowa like a wave on the beach. He stood up and backed away from Quatre rather quickly, a horrified expression almost crossing his face. *I led him to this…he doesn't want to tell me because he doesn't want me to know, but I led him to this…* Trowa's face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes grew wide and his mind was reeling. Quatre didn't seem to notice Trowa's sudden withdrawal from the situation. He suddenly didn't want to be in Quatre's presence any longer. He didn't want Quatre to be in his presence any longer, he was afraid of the consequences. All he could wonder is what would happen if he continued letting Quatre be around him. He couldn't think straight, he could only think about how this was his fault, about how he had led Quatre to try suicide. He had to stay away from Quatre so no more harm would come to him.

*What if I'm wrong?…* His better judgement spoke up. Just because Quatre wasn't making eye-contact with him didn't mean it was because all this was his fault. There were plenty of times when Quatre was upset that he didn't like to make eye-contact with anyone. Why would this time be any different? These new understandings should have calmed his troubled mind, but they didn't. He looked back at Quatre, and noticed that he had stopped crying and was now staring concernedly.

"Trowa? Are you alright?" The blonde questioned. Trowa recomposed his thoughts and for a moment he considered asking Quatre if his suspicions were right, if all this really was his fault. But he decided against that. It would only make Quatre more upset, and it tore Trowa when he saw the other cry.

"I'm okay." Trowa said in a reassuring tone as he looked back at Quatre. He would've given the blonde a smile, but he couldn't do it. Quatre was still looking at him and although he nodded in acceptance of Trowa's answer, his blue eyes were still wavering with concern. 

"Maybe you should go to bed. I'm better now, I think I can manage.." Quatre voiced his concern, but trailed off. He didn't want Trowa to leave, but it was obvious that something was upsetting him and if it had anything to do with the incident Quatre didn't want to make Trowa stay any longer. Trowa shook his head a little.

"No, it was nothing." He insisted. Quatre looked at him, still a little unbelieving of Trowa's brusque objection that anything had been wrong. But it was apparent that Trowa wasn't going to say anything more on the matter, so Quatre averted his attention once more. He looked at his hands, which were shivering in his lap. He hadn't even noticed they had been shivering, but now that he did he tried furiously to get them to stop. They looked so pale against the tan-ish color of his pants, and they were cold too. He tried to rub some warmth into them without drawing Trowa's attention, but eventually Trowa was bound to notice just as Quatre had. Quatre tried to draw his attention away, but now that he realized that his hands were cold, the rest of his body felt strangely cold as well. He stood up suddenly, his decision made.

"I'm going to bed now." He announced. Trowa nodded in a silent response and watched Quatre as he walked into the bedroom. He was a bit surprised by the way Quatre had suddenly stopped crying and quickly brushed aside his questioning. But his face would never show how shocked he was on the inside. He closed the bathroom door so Quatre could change into his pajamas in privacy, and he looked around the small room. Even with the light on, the room seemed to be so dark.

For no reason, Trowa began to wonder if Quatre had ever tried suicide before.

Quatre got changed quickly, hoping that his pajamas would offer a warmth to his shivering body that his other clothes had not. He glanced at the clock and noticed that just over two hours had passed since Trowa came in and found the noose. Only two hours and already they had both returned to their former selves. He sighed heavily and sat on his bed. He needed to talk to Trowa about all the confusion and pain, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't come up with a reason as to why Trowa would want to know. He hung his head, promising himself that he wouldn't cry again tonight, and sat in silence, fighting the tears that were still threatening to be shed. He wouldn't cry, there was no reason to. Just because everything that ever seemed important in your life suddenly doesn't seem so important isn't that big of a deal. Just because the one person you care for more than anything doesn't return your feelings is no reason to cry. Just because you've lost all hope in your life and just because you've lost your way is no reason to commit suicide.

Or is it?

Quatre found himself once again staring fixedly at the noose hanging no more than three yards from his bed. He had to take that down before he tried to use it again. A shiver ran up his spine as he got up and walked over to the balcony, grabbing the two windows and slamming them shut rather quickly. At least that way he wouldn't have to look at the noose until he was ready to take it down. Quatre stood by the draped windows, absently running his hand over the curtain as he looked out into the night. He needed to get out of the house. It just harbored too many memories for him, he had to escape them even if it only was for a day. The rain that fell from the night sky suddenly became stronger, making a soft drumming sound as it hit the windows and the balcony. 

When Trowa re-entered Quatre's room, he saw the small blonde looking at the rain through the window. At first his heart raced as he thought Quatre had tried the noose again, but he understood soon enough that the boy was only letting his mind wander. He stood at the bathroom door, his eyes fixated on Quatre. The blonde looked like an angel as the moonlight cast an eerie glow around him. Trowa found himself unable to move forward, he was completely in awe by the way the moonlight seemed to reflect off of Quatre's pale skin and platinum hair, giving the illusion of a pale glow emitting from his body. Trowa stared at the angel before him, and he was overcome with a feeling of lust. 

"Oh, Quatre…" Trowa whispered soft enough so only he could hear. He hadn't even realized he whispered the words outloud until after they had settled in the air around him. He didn't want to disturb Quatre right then. No, he wanted to keep that image of Quatre in the moonlight in his mind forever, especially after the recent incidents. That's how he wanted to remember the blonde: carefree, happy, thoughtful, and beautiful. That's how he wanted Quatre to be always. He never wanted to see the heavenly blonde cry ever again, someone as kind as Quatre shouldn't have to cry tears of hardship and pain. Trowa would see to it that he never did again.

The sound of the rain seemed oddly soothing to Quatre's troubled mind, and he didn't even notice that Trowa had entered the room. The soft drumming sound the rain made as it bounced off the windows and on the balcony offered peace to his mind; he didn't have to think about anything if he didn't want to, he could just stand and listen to the rain and let all his problems bother him later. He closed his eyes slowly, wishing he could share this peace of mind with Trowa. He absently removed his hand from the curtain and let it fall back to his side. The moon was still so bright despite the rain clouds trying to cover it. 

He opened his eyes again and looked up at the moon, suddenly wishing he was back in space. If he were in space, he wouldn't have to worry about the memories in this house. Maybe he'd be happier, less confused, less scared. The moon held him in a hypnotic trance, and he stood there, wondering how different his life would be if he stayed on the L-4 colony and never came back to Earth. 

A bolt of lightning suddenly streaked across the sky, and the moon released Quatre from his trance. A clap of thunder followed, and Quatre's peace of mind disappeared as quickly as it had come. He sighed heavily. *Good things never do last…* He thought remorsefully as he turned away from the window.

"Oh, Trowa, I didn't hear you come in." He said, a little startled as he saw Trowa standing a few feet away from the bathroom. Trowa couldn't help but frown a bit. The lightning had ruined Quatre's angelic look, and it had also drawn Quatre out of his thoughtful silence. All of Trowa's thoughts were pulled away from his emotions as the feeling of lust slowly dissolved. 

"I didn't want to disturb you." He replied in a hushed tone. Quatre managed a smile even though there was really nothing in his present situation to smile about. But he always managed to smile around Trowa, it seemed to be something that required no effort for him. Even though sometimes Quatre was confused and hurting on the inside, he never revealed that to Trowa. He didn't want the emerald-eyed boy worrying, he wanted to keep Trowa happy, even if it meant never showing how he really felt. As soon as Trowa looked away, the smile slowly slid from Quatre's face.

There was another bright bolt of lightning as Quatre made his way over to his bed, and the thunder clap made him jump a little. The storm was awfully close now. Trowa was staring at the window, although the shades were drawn and he wouldn't be able to see anything. Quatre's brow furrowed in slight confusion, but he reasoned there was nothing to be worried about. 

Trowa couldn't bring himself to look away from the spot where Quatre had previously been. Each time he closed his eyes the image of Quatre in the moonlight appeared. He wished Quatre had never moved from the window so he wouldn't have to think about the noose, and so he wouldn't have to wonder why Quatre had tried suicide. He didn't want to think about any of that, and he didn't want Quatre to have to think about it either. 

He shook his head clear as he realized that he had been staring at the window, and turned away quickly to face Quatre again. The blonde looked so fragile, so delicate as he laid down in the bed and drew the covers over himself. Trowa let a small sigh escape him. Yes, he really did love Quatre. There was no other word for it. He loved Quatre with every fiber of his being, with every part of his soul. If he could just tell Quatre that, then maybe they could be together. He quickly rejected that idea, he wasn't going to tell Quatre any of that now. It was obvious that the blonde was exhausted, and Trowa was feeling rather tired himself.

He decided that he'd tell Quatre everything tomorrow. Maybe over breakfast he'd finally be able to tell Quatre his true feelings. That would surely make his angel happy, wouldn't it? *I'll tell him tomorrow.* Trowa concluded, and he knew that nothing was going to stop him. Tomorrow, he would finally tell Quatre he loved him.

He walked over to Quatre's bed and looked down at the blonde, who was nearly asleep already. He was going to say goodnight, but he couldn't find the words. He just looked down at Quatre, and a small smile worked its way over his face. *Pleasant dreams, angel.* He thought and turned away from Quatre, ready to retire to his own room.

Quatre opened his eyes as he heard Trowa make to leave. His heart filled with dread at having to spend the night alone, he didn't know what he would do. The noose was still hanging, what if he tried to use it again? Before he was even sure of what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed Trowa's arm. Trowa turned around, looking slightly alarmed.

"I thought you were sleeping already." Trowa blurted. 

"Please don't go, Trowa. I'm afraid of what I might do if you go." Quatre choked out. Trowa looked at the young blonde in the bed, his slight frame shivering under the covers. His heart ached to see Quatre shivering, and he wanted to climb in the bed with Quatre to keep him warm.

After a moment's hesitation, Trowa took a seat on Quatre's bed, and Quatre released Trowa's arm from his grasp. Trowa waveringly lifted a hand up to Quatre's head, and began to pet his hair as Quatre closed his eyes. Another bolt of lightning lit up the room around them and Trowa could see tears glistening on Quatre's face. The lightning faded away, and the room was dark once again.

Trowa absently continued to slowly pet Quatre's head as the young blonde drifted into sleep. He watched Quatre sleep, almost in awe of how peaceful the small boy looked when he slept. He wasn't smiling in his sleep, but he wasn't crying either. Trowa's green eyes stared at Quatre's face in the semi-darkness and he was overcome with a feeling of longing. He longed to be with Quatre forever, he longed for the other to know how he felt, but right now, he longed to just lay down next to the blonde. He stopped petting Quatre's head as he stood up slowly, trying not to make the bed tremor too much so Quatre wouldn't wake up. 

He didn't want to leave, and he stood in the near-darkness of Quatre's room, debating with himself on whether to stay or not. He sighed exasperatedly and rubbed his eyes. *Why can't I just make up my mind? Quatre asked me to stay. Not until he fell asleep; he didn't specify how long I should stay.* *Exactly. He just assumed that you would leave once he fell asleep!* *But maybe he wants me to stay.* Trowa turned back to face Quatre. *He's still shivering. Something should be done about that.* His brow wrinkled in worry, and he leaned over Quatre, his feeling of longing becoming even more apparent. *I don't want to be alone anymore. And I don't think Quatre does either.* He reached his hand out and turned Quatre's face towards his. The smaller boy whimpered and muttered something, but stayed asleep

Before he could stop himself, Trowa bent over and kissed his angel. 

Quatre's eyes flew open, and at first he didn't realize what was happening. *What?…Trowa?..* He asked himself as he realized that Trowa was kissing him. Trowa's eyes were closed, and he didn't realize that Quatre had awoken until after he pulled away. That was when he realized what he had done. 

"Trowa?…" Quatre said, in complete disbelief and shock. He was almost sure he was in a dream, because he didn't think Trowa would ever really do that, no matter how often Quatre wished he would.

Trowa was horrified but contented at the same time. He had wanted to do that, but another part of him was horrified that he actually had. He was torn between smiling and apologizing. So he did neither. He just looked into Quatre's azure eyes, hoping that Quatre wouldn't shun him now. The part of him that had enjoyed the kiss was hoping for another one, but Trowa knew that would spoil the moment. Quatre's blue eyes were shimmering as thunder shook the air and another streak of lightning lit up the room. 

"Oh Trowa…this isn't a dream, is it?" Quatre whispered as he peered into Trowa's green eyes. He hoped that it wasn't a dream; he somehow knew that it wasn't a dream, but he had to be sure. Trowa let a smile don his face before answering Quatre's question. 

"No, Quatre. This isn't a dream." Trowa was no longer smiling, but he didn't look unhappy. Quatre didn't mind, he was smiling enough for the both of them. *Oh God, thank you..* Quatre thought as he smiled up at Trowa. He only wished that he had been awake for the beginning of the kiss. 

The coldness he had been feeling before had mysteriously disappeared, and he had finally stopped shivering. His mind noted all of this with relief and Quatre closed his eyes, indulging in the remnants of the kiss. His body was tingling all over with…what? He wasn't sure. Ecstasy, pleasure, contentment, pure happiness. Any of those or all of them, Quatre wasn't sure. All he knew was that that was the best kiss he had ever experienced. 

"Go back to sleep now, Quatre." Trowa whispered slowly. Quatre opened his eyes and gazed up at Trowa once more before turning over and closing his eyes again. He fell back asleep almost right away, a smile now dominating his features. Trowa stood by Quatre's bed for a few more minutes, and then reluctantly turned away and headed back to his own room.

He opened the door to his own room and stepped inside, looking around as he turned on the light. His room seemed to be so empty, although he had never noticed it before. He closed the door behind him, fighting the desire to go back to Quatre's room and lay down with his angel. He let a small sigh escape his lips as he realized how exhausted he was. It had certainly been an emotionally exhausting night, and Trowa made his way over to his bed, thankful to be able to finally get some sleep. He slipped off his sneakers, too tired to get changed into his pajamas, and laid down on his bed.

He fell asleep with the picture of Quatre in the moonlight on his mind, and the sweet remains of their kiss on his lips.

******

Trowa's eyelids fluttered open as sunlight spilled across his room. He lazily rolled over, the incidents from the previous night forgotten for the time being, and looked at the clock on the wall. 9 'o clock. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and stretched as he sat up. *Why am I wearing yesterday's clothes?* He asked himself as he realized he wasn't wearing his pajamas. 

In a flash he remembered everything about last night. The noose…the blood…the lust…and the kiss. He couldn't believe he had forgotten all about it, and he was a bit ashamed that he had. Something so dire shouldn't have slipped his mind, not even in his sleep. He chided himself for forgetting, and stumbled out of bed, although his body was protesting. A small yawn escaped him as he exited his room and slowly made his way over to Quatre's. He prayed that the blonde was still sleeping, after last night Quatre could do with quite a bit of sleep.

He paused outside Quatre's closed door, unable to remember if he had closed it or not the previous night. *Stop being paranoid.* His mind admonished. But either way, he felt fear gripping in the depths of his stomach as he turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.

Empty. The bed was empty. His eyes immediately flew to the window, but the shades were still drawn. He slowly stepped inside Quatre's room, wondering if the blonde had already awoken and was downstairs. He looked in the bathroom, a chill running down his spine as he remembered how he had found Quatre there the previous night. But Quatre wasn't there this time. He knew that eventually he would have to draw back the curtains and see if in fact Quatre had hung himself, and he was trying his hardest not to think about it.

He exited the bathroom, and his eyes once again wondered to the balcony window. His body was rigid with fear and anticipation and curiosity. He didn't want to pull back the curtains, but he knew that was the only option left for him, unless he wanted to check the rest of the house and then come back. He decided it would be better for him if he just got it over with now, instead of letting the fear rip at his soul. He carefully but purposefully approached the windows, and without giving it a second thought, pulled the curtains open in one effortless movement. The sunlight spilled into the previously darkened room, and for a few moments Trowa was blinded by the sudden burst of light.

When he regained his full sight, his eyes locked upon the noose.

Empty. Just like the bed and the rest of the room.

Relief swept over him, and the fear he felt was gone in an instant. He closed his eyes and let out a relieved sigh, knowing that his angel was still alive. But the relief had not extinguished his curiosity. If Quatre wasn't in his room, then where was he? He stood for a few more minutes letting the sunlight warm his body, and then he turned and exited Quatre's room, hoping to find the other boy downstairs.

He entered the kitchen a few minutes later, but to his disappointment, Quatre wasn't there. Nor was he in any other room in the house. Trowa searched every room, hoping to find Quatre so they could talk, so he could tell the blonde his true feelings, just as he promised himself he would the night before. But Quatre wasn't anywhere to be found. He soughed again and walked back to the kitchen after searching the rest of the house, intent on getting something to eat.

As he sat at the table, he noticed a note sitting on the counter. He hadn't noticed it the first time he had entered, and he quickly got up and picked it up. He recognized the neat cursive writing before he saw the signature at the bottom. It was a note from Quatre. He went back to the table and sat down, bringing the note with him. As soon as he was seated, he began to read.

Dear Trowa,

Don't worry about me, I just went for a walk. I need some time alone to clear my head and think things over, especially after the events from last night. I promise you I'll return home as soon as I think I am able, but unfortunately I cannot tell you when this may be. I have a lot of things to think over, not just from last night, but from these past few weeks. I hope that I can return back by tonight, but I don't want to rush myself, so I doubt I will be back today. Just don't worry if I'm not back by tomorrow, I'll be alright.

I'm sorry that I had to leave you like this, Trowa, especially after least night, but I can't stay in that house with everything that has happened. I don't want the events from last night to repeat themselves, and to make sure that they don't, I need to sort all my emotions out. I just can't do that while I'm in the house. I know that you would've left me alone if I asked you, if I had decided to do my thinking in the house, but it's more than that. Please just understand that I need to be by myself right now.

Thank you for stopping me last night. I regret having to put you through something like that, and when I return I promise you that we'll talk about it, we'll talk about everything. 

Trowa, you know as well as I do that a relationship between the two of us will never work. We're much too different, it will only end in disaster and heartbreak…

Trowa paused before reading further, and read that part again. It ripped him apart inside, after all the uncertainty, Quatre had brought forth the logic that he had wanted to deny. Quatre was right, of course. Their personalities were almost completely opposite. *Or are they really? On the outside it's different. My facade is much different than his personality. But…me, the _real_ me, isn't that much a contradiction to Quatre's personality.* He felt a sorrow gripping in his throat as he struggled to contain the uncertain, disappointed moan that was trying to escape. If Quatre was right, he didn't want him to be. He felt as though his desires had been completely cut down in the cruelest way, although he knew Quatre hadn't meant to do that. He never realized how much he wanted to have a romantic relationship with Quatre until just now, until Quatre plainly stated that he wouldn't, that he couldn't. But Quatre was right. Until Trowa could learn to express all his emotions without feeling like it was making him weak, any relationship the two of them had beyond friendship would end in heartbreak. He didn't want to break Quatre's heart.

Flooded in disappointment, Trowa continued to read the rest of Quatre's letter.

…But I'm willing to take the risks if it means we can be together for any amount of time. I know that you don't feel comfortable showing your emotions, but I wouldn't mind that as long as I knew how you really feel about me. And I think the kiss we shared expressed your feelings better than any words ever could.

Trowa blinked, his face a emotionless as ever, but his mind in a mess of confusion. He still felt disappointment, although he wasn't quite sure why. But there was a bit of relief thrown in. *If Quatre's willing to give it a try, despite the fact he thinks it will end badly, we could both try to avoid the predicted ending of our relationship…maybe it would turn out better that way. But if we try too hard, everything will break apart in the center as we try to hold the edges together.* His mind calculated as though it were on a mission, deciding his next move in the ongoing battle. Of course he didn't notice, because that was how his mind worked for as long as he could remember.

I suppose we'll just have to decide when I get back. I promise I will return to you as soon as I'm able.

8:05 AM 

Quatre Raberba Winner

Trowa sighed and put the note on the table in front of him, and then rubbed his eyes. He wouldn't worry about Quatre. He wouldn't. He was sure that Quatre could take care of himself, and he knew that he would return later today, or tomorrow at the latest. The blonde just needed some time to clear his mind, and Trowa would gladly offer him the time he needed. How long could it possibly take, anyway? Quatre couldn't possibly have too many things to think over just from the past couple of weeks.

He decided not to think about that, because it would only make him more anxious for Quatre's return. If he could find something to keep his mind occupied with, he wouldn't have to worry about let his mind dwell on Quatre. 

He gently pushed the letter to the side and stood up, preparing to get something to eat as he had originally intended. 

******

It had been a few hours since Quatre had left his house, but to him it felt as though only minutes had passed. He was about a few miles from his house by now, but he didn't notice the distance. As soon as he had stepped foot from his yard, his mind had immediately plunged into its thoughts, and once he dove into his musings, nothing was able to pull him from them. Even the people who shoved past him as he walked down the busy sidewalks seemed to have no effect on him, he didn't even noticed their rude jolting as they rushed to get to wherever they had to be.

But Quatre had no place in particular to be just then, nor for the rest of the day. So he was free to get lost in his thoughts, he was free to take his time and make sure he settled every qualm he had with his past. In the note he wrote to Trowa he purposely avoided telling exactly what was bothering him so much. He had lied a little when he said he was going to think about the events of the past few weeks. He was going to think about that too, but he was also going to think further into the past. He didn't want Trowa to know he was still having trouble dealing with the war, that now that the war was over he realized exactly how many people he had killed.

He didn't tell Trowa about the nightmares, basically because he didn't understand them himself. Not completely, anyway. Some were extremely obvious, but others seemed to be a metaphor for something else, but he wasn't sure what. The nightmares had started only a few weeks ago, but he knew exactly where they had spawned from. After all this time since the end of the war, the implications had finally hit him. How many people had suffered because of him, some who may still be suffering now, all the innocent people he had killed to get to OZ. But what upset him most wasn't any of that, really. It had been necessary to attain peace. What really bothered him most was that none of the other pilots seemed to be able to see him for what he really was. He was a murderer, just like the rest of them. Or maybe, even worse than the rest of them. But the others didn't seem to see him as such. They always told him how kind and compassionate he was, and maybe that was true, but he was just as blood-stained as the rest of them. They just hadn't realized that yet, and he didn't know if they ever would. 

All of the other pilots seemed to have at least a small bit of understanding about the others, but not about him. None of them knew who he really was because he always walked around with a mask of innocence. The difference between him and the other pilots were that the others all knew that they killed innocent people and they admitted that to themselves, sometimes they even admitted it openly. The others never lost sight of their objectives, they never lost sight of what was right and wrong, of which side they were fighting for, of who their enemies and allies were. They always seemed to be so clear about that. 

Quatre, on the other hand, had trouble distinguishing. He also had trouble admitting to himself that he had killed as many people as he had. He tried to fool himself and others into thinking he was just a polite and innocent 15-year-old boy, and that used to work. But now he saw himself for what he really was. And what really upset him was no one else seemed to see it.

He had spent the past few days trying to come up with a way to express this to Trowa, the only other pilot who ever seemed to at least TRY to understand him, but every attempt came up futile, as he could never find the words to express exactly how he felt.

His own silence had nearly killed him. He needed someone who understood him, someone who saw him for what he really was and didn't shun him. He needed someone who had been through a situation like his so he could talk to them and still be accepted. He desperately wanted that person to be Trowa, but it never would be unless Quatre found a way to tell him or Trowa figured it out on his own.

He hadn't meant to go suicidal. Sure, he had thought about it plenty of times, so had all the other pilots. But he had never meant to actually try it, maybe succeed in killing himself. But on top of his recent despair, the nightmares about being covered, literally drenched, in the blood of others and waking up to realize that the blood wasn't gone, and then the mixed emotions he had recently been receiving from Trowa, he finally couldn't handle any of this any longer.

He had reasoned that there was no one who understood him, no one who could ever see him for what he was, no one who could see through his mask of innocence. He would have to live his life knowing how cruel he could really be but never having anyone else know. That was a hell in itself, and he didn't want to live that way.

He was still eternally grateful that Trowa had stopped him. The very thought of suicide sent a chill up his spine. But so did the nightmares. 

They couldn't even really be called nightmares. More like lost memories, experiences he had buried away, that he had never thought he would have to face. Of course, his subconscious exaggerated the memories to make them seem more violent than they really had been, everyone's mind does that, but knowing they were created from real memories made the nightmares even more unsettling. 

And then waking up in a cold sweat and looking at his quivering hand with frightened eyes, and seeing the dark, sticky blood smeared on his fingers only made it more horrifying. He would blink and look at his hand again, and the blood would be gone. But his mind would occasionally play tricks on him, and he would see the blood when he looked in the mirror, or when he washed his hands.

A passer-by bumped into him, momentarily reawakening him to the events around him. He drew his hand from his pocket and looked at it.

No blood.

He let a small sigh of relief escape him as his hand returned to his pants pocket.

******

Trowa glanced at the clock again. Then he scolded himself for doing so. As the day drew on, he was running out of things to keep his mind occupied with. He had checked his e-mail to be sure that there were no new missions, and there weren't, which wasn't a big surprise anymore. He checked up on the rebels he had been keeping a close eye on, but they weren't up to anything. His emerald eyes moved around the room, trying to decide what he could do to keep his mind occupied.

*It wouldn't hurt to go for a walk yourself, sort out all of YOUR emotions.* That was true. He could go for a walk, but he knew that in the end he'd try to look for Quatre, and he didn't want to upset the boy by not granting his request to be alone. 

He was determinedly trying to keep himself from looking at the clock again, not wanting to worry about where Quatre was or if he was alright or what might've happened to him or-- *Don't. Worry. He's quite capable of taking care of himself. And he promised you he'd come home.*

He closed his eyes for a moment, still deciding on what he could do to keep himself occupied.

It came to him quite simply.

He should probably cut the noose down before Quatre came back. With his mind made up, he gracefully rose from the couch, grabbed a large pair of scissors, and ascended the stairs.

When he pushed open the door to Quatre's room, a rush of cold air hit him. He looked questioningly about the room, wondering where the swift breeze had come from. None of the windows were open, the air conditioning wasn't on, and opening the door wouldn't cause a draft like that. He was a bit chilled as he stepped into the room, but ignored it, resolute in cutting down the noose and getting rid of it once and for all. He dragged the desk chair so it was under the noose, and then took a step up. He opened the scissors and steadied the noose with his free hand, staring resolutely at the spot he was about to make the cut.

__

"Please, just leave me alone…You don't know how close I came…" 

The memory from the previous night caught him completely off-guard and he jerked involuntarily, cutting one of his fingers on the scissors as he did so. He closed his eyes, ignoring the small line of blood appearing on his finger, remembering the terrifying events of the previous night. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, once again staring at the spot where the scissors still straddled the rope.

Without another thought, he closed the scissors and the rope broke as the blades cut through. The noose lay limp in his hand, never to cast another eerie shadow, never to beckon anyone to death ever again. He stepped off the chair and made his way into the bathroom, deciding it would be best if he put a Band-Aid on his cut to keep it from bleeding more. As he reached the door to Quatre's adjoining bathroom, he paused, thinking it might be better if he used the bathroom in his own room. He didn't want to remember any of the chilling scenes from last night, and the bathroom would undoubtedly bring those unwanted memories back. But there was one memory he wanted to remember.

Slowly he turned around to face the balcony windows and closed his eyes, recalling his angel in the moonlight. He let the memory control every aspect of his mind and body for what felt like forever as he indulged in the warmth and awe. All the other memories he had were of wars and bloodshed. This memory was the only one of its kind that Trowa possessed, and he would never forget it.

He opened his eyes and all traces of the memory disappeared, waiting for him to call on it again. He turned around and paced out of the room, unintentionally glancing at the alarm clock before he left.

Nearly four in the afternoon. Quatre wasn't home yet.

******

Quatre took in his surroundings for the first time since he had left his house that morning. He had walked across town. More than across town; he was on his way out of the town. Dusk was coming on quick, the sun setting off to his left told him as much. He turned and watched the brilliant orange orb slowly sink below the horizon line, forgetting about all his worries and letting the dazzling light engulf him before it disappeared completely.

He knew Trowa must be worrying about him despite the note he had left. He turned back to the town, which was faintly glowing with the remaining wisps of orange light. He stared in the direction he had been coming from, debating with himself on whether he was ready to go back or not. Over the day, he had decided that for some reason being in the house was also affecting him. He couldn't decide how or why, but something about that house just seemed like it was stifling his mind, like the house was offering him death. He didn't know why it suddenly felt that way, but he was sure that was part of the problem.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to return to that house.

His gaze lingered on the town even though his mind was already made up. He continued to stare even after the orange glow had disappeared and the town was nothing more than a shadow in the night.

He then turned around, staring at the darkened road that lay ahead of him. He had promised Trowa he would return when he was ready. But now that he was headed away from the house, it felt as though a huge weight was being lifted from him, like he was free to breathe again. With each step he took away from the town, he felt like he was becoming more liberated. But he also felt a small pang of sorrow and regret with each step he took.

He turned back to the town, his gaze faltering as he became unsure of his decision. Trowa loved him, and he loved Trowa. But there was so much they didn't know about one another, there was so much that could go wrong in a relationship between them. He bit his lip, uncertainty overtaking his previous confidence as he remembered their kiss. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, once again heading away from the town, his heart being torn in the process.

He would return someday, just as he had promised.

******

Trowa stared at the fire, watching as the rope curled and blackened from the flame, and eventually caught fire itself. He was trying his hardest not to notice that it was dark outside, that the sun had set nearly an hour ago, and that Quatre still wasn't back. He leaned back in the couch and crossed his arms over his chest, letting the fire warm him.

He had realized just a few hours earlier that last night HAD been the chance he had been waiting for to admit his emotions to Quatre. The opportunity had been right there for him to use, but he hadn't done it. Sure, Quatre said the kiss was enough, but Trowa knew that Quatre had to hear his feelings as much as he needed to speak them aloud. But he had wasted that chance, and now it was eating away at his mind.

If he had known that Quatre was going to go for this walk to clear his mind, he would've told the blonde last night how he felt instead of putting it off. He would've forced himself to find the words.

He sat up and prodded the fire with the fire iron, watching as the heart of the flames glowed a translucent purple in contrast to the bright yellow-orange of the rest of the fire. He moved a few of the logs into the inferno, and they were soon covered in the bright flames of the fire as well. He stared into the fire, desperately hoping that Quatre returned to him soon so he could make up for his mistake of not telling him how he really felt. He sighed defeatedly.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that despite all his hoping and praying, it was going to be a while before he saw Quatre again.

~The end

Author's Note: I'm thinking of making a sequel to this, but I'm not entirely sure. I have yet to decide if I'm happy with the way I left off. So, we'll see if you're ever to know what happens to Quatre and Trowa, or if you'll just have to be left wondering. 


End file.
